Blindsided
by Eve Levine
Summary: Why did she let herself trust the smooth music coming out of his mouth and the dirty, delicious curve of his lips?  Ima protects herself, and she learns from her mistakes, so how did she end up blindsided by Jax?  Sequel to the one-shot Walk of Shame.
1. Chapter 1

_A.N. - All the characters belong to Kurt Sutter. I own nothing. I came up with a back-story for Ima when I wrote "Walk of Shame," explaining how she became the narcissistic porn star a lot of people love to hate, but it didn't fit in that one-shot. Strangely, I couldn't let the back-story go. This should be a short fic, maybe 2-4 chapters at the most getting into what makes Ima tick. Apologies for having stalled out on my Jax/Tara fic if any of you read that one and are wondering where the heck I've been. I need to get this out of my system before I can finish that one._

_Author's Warning - This story is fairly dark and base. It contains instances of physical and sexual assault, and it also contains a whole lot of Ima, who isn't all that happy with Jax at the moment. _

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><p>The door clicks shut. Ima pulls herself up a little more and her head spins, the room sliding sideways. She needs to go lock that door so Jax can't get back in. Ima can taste her own blood like warm pennies sitting on the back of her tongue. She thinks if there wasn't a couch behind her propping her up, she would fall backwards and slip into unconsciousness, wonders if maybe that would be best. The pressure builds as the busted ruin of her face swells. She's not sure she can get up yet and she's not ready to face the full truth in the mirror.<p>

Ima brings one cautious hand up, her fingertips oh so gently examining the damage. Ima tries not to scream as she feels around. Her cheeks are wet but these aren't tears she feels mixed in with the blood and the spit. The deep choking noises hiccuping out of her mouth are not sobs because Ima doesn't cry. Crying is useless. There's nobody Ima would ever let wipe away her tears. Everybody's eyes water when they take a shot like that to the nose. She's not weak. He didn't win.

_He will tear you in two and spit on the pieces if you ever let yourself trust him._

Ima knew this about Jax. Thought it over a year ago when his teasing grin, the one that promised all the slow and filthy things he could do with her, slipped off his face to reveal a flinty pointed stare. Why did she let herself do it again?

She knew it was Jax pushing up against her before she turned around. Heard the jingle of his wallet chain and felt his hand, the pads of his fingers rough and calloused, rub against her lower back and slide around her hip. His fingertips dipping down past the waist of her shorts, kneading her stomach, pulling her ass back to grind against his crotch, while his lips nestled against her ear.

"Anybody in your dressing room right now darlin'?" Jax asked and Ima tried to keep the smile off of her face. Moved his hand and turned out of his grip with a flounce, feeling coy and thinking about turning him down just to make a point. But she didn't. She let him lead her somewhere private, feeling like she'd won… something. Why did she let herself trust the smooth music coming out of his mouth and the dirty, delicious curve of his lips?

This isn't the first hit Ima's ever taken, though it might be the hardest, and she thought something like this might happen. Thought somebody might have something to say about her working for Georgie and his goons after what happened to Luann, but nobody has proof it was Georgie who bashed in her head. That's a convenient assumption, and with Cara Cara burned to the ground, she needed an income and a way to rebuild. Ima's skill set is somewhat limited. Besides what loyalty does she owe SAMCRO? They don't give a fuck about her, which is why Ima bought the gun in the first place. Well that, and she was done getting schooled by biker bitches. Whether they were shooting up her car or smacking her in public, she was done. Ima protects herself, and she learns from her mistakes, so how did she end up blindsided by Jax?

Jax didn't want to talk about Georgie, or her gun, Ima thinks. He wanted to talk about sex.

"_Whore"_

Fuck Jax Teller and his self-righteous fucking finger. She's not a whore. Her job is legal, unlike his criminal ass, and the tricks he found her turning on the side were for _good_ _money_. A saint would have fucked those guys if they were staring at a wad of cash that big. Everybody has a price, Ima's no different.

And if he's looking for some delusional high ground, that's a real joke because Ima knows there's an army of chicks up and down the California coast who have seen his cock.

"_Rancid pussy."_

Ima shakes her head, sending lightning bolts of pain straight to the tip of her nose. Fuck him. She's not buying that. He couldn't get enough of her pussy when they hooked up. She keeps her shit immaculate. Ima feels like she could run a seminar on grooming, because other chicks wish they had the time to take care of themselves the way she does.

"_I'll kill you. You got that?"_

The door opens and Ima flinches. She pulls her legs up to cover her soft bits, thinking Jax is coming back for more. Ima hides in her knees, unable to stare him down a second time and trying to protect her nose, but the blows never land.

"Jesus..." A soft voice says from the doorway. Ima looks up and desperately wishes she could suck her own small, panicked, whimpers back into her throat. Lyla's standing there, her eyes round, a fifth of vodka held in her hands. "Who did this to you?" Lyla asks. She's the last person Ima wants to see, and Ima doesn't have the energy to be flip and nonchalant.

"Who do you think?" Ima says and covers her face with her hands, trying to work the tremor out of her lips.

"Opie didn't do this." Lyla says with certainty, stepping further into the room. "He wouldn't, _ever,_ so don't even try that bullshit." Ima rolls her eyes and is annoyed to find even that small movement aches through her nose.

"It wasn't him. It was Jax." She answers.

"Really… Jax? That doesn't seem right…" Lyla says but she sounds less certain than she was about Opie. Ima looks at the bottle Lyla's still holding. It's upside-down and she's got a hold of it by the neck.

"What's with the vodka?" Ima asks her and Lyla looks down at it almost absently.

"Well I was thinking about hitting you with it." Lyla admits. There is no heat in her voice as she says it, as if the sight of Ima sitting busted and bleeding on the floor has cured Lyla's own rage and bloodlust. She holds it out to Ima. "But at this point, you could probably use a drink." Lyla doesn't wait for Ima to respond. She walks over to the table and grabs a tipped over glass off of it. Something catches her eye and she pauses examining the edge of the table. "Your blood is over here." She whispers and turns to look at Ima with something close to pity.

Ima looks away. She can't deal with other people's pity, especially not Lyla's, not after today. Lyla's been knocked around before, has had her nose broken. Ima knows all about Piper's father and how he was to Lyla. Knows Lyla left him before Piper could walk because she wasn't having him grow up in all that. It's not like either of them are new to this. Ima wishes Lyla would take her swing, get her pound of flesh, and then leave her alone. She wants to regroup, pick her humiliated ass off of the floor in private. Not have Lyla stand there staring with those big doe eyes of hers.

Lyla hands Ima the fifth and the glass and lets her pour her own drink. Ima fills it half full and takes a swallow, looking for warmth wherever she can get it. Lyla walks silently out of the room while Ima takes another drink.

She thought Lyla would be pissed about Opie. Hung around a little longer than she had too, hoping Lyla would show up looking for him, the way Tara came looking for Jax. She needed a way to pay Lyla back for the smack to her face, and for throwing her over completely for the fucking doctor, but she thought Lyla would take it on the chin. Lyla's still working in the business, refusing to stop if the stories are true, so Ima didn't think she would care all that deeply if her man found pussy in other places? The tears surprised her.

Before she got his pants off, Ima didn't get Lyla's attraction to Opie. He wasn't a mountain she ever wanted to climb. She likes her men a little prettier than him. Thought Lyla should take a lawnmower to his beard and burn that fucking knitted cap of his. But after a night with him, Ima sort of understands Lyla's need to lock that down.

He wasn't too soft or sweet with her, which is good because "sweet" men make Ima's skin crawl. His serious expression, the intensity in his eyes made Ima smile as she undid his belt. He was so angry. But she's fucked a lot of dudes and she can easily tell when a guy is used to knocking a girl to her knees and gagging her on his cock and when he's used to taking a little more time and coaxing the blowjob out of her, and Opie was definitely in the second category.

Betraying his woman wasn't something he did often. She could feel it in the way he moved and the way he'd deepen his kisses before pulling back and flipping her over, as if he needed some distance to remind himself who he was fucking, and that it meant nothing. It amused Ima, both the reek of monogamy that poured off of him and the intensity he was trying to keep in check. She wondered if there was a way to let that loose, if she could get the silent biker to make her scream. So she taunted him, fought him for control of their rhythm, and gave him the little shove he needed to unleash his anger and find the pounding ferocity she was looking for, and fucking hell, it was worth it.

It was good enough, Ima wanted to keep him a little bit herself. She stayed the night, was surprisingly okay with his heavy arm around waist, and threw a little extra sugar his way in the morning. He still bounced her as soon as he was dressed, which bothers her more than Ima cares to examine.

Lyla walks back in with an ice pack and she tosses it at Ima's feet. "Here, put this on your face, or you won't work on camera for weeks." She says and grabs the vodka to pour herself a glass. She pulls a chair around to sit and face Ima. Ima presses the pack gently to the bridge of her nose. "Can you get up?" Lyla asks her.

"I'm fine." Ima lies, ignoring the woozy nausea stumbling down from her head and heading for her stomach. "You don't have to sit here with me. You can go."

Lyla tilts her head and narrows her eyes, her innocent face growing shrewd as she measures Ima. "Oh but that would make this easier for you." Lyla bites out. "And we need to get a few things straight."


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N.- Thank you to everybody who reviewed or alerted this fic. I know Ima's not a fan favorite, but I can't seem to stop writing about her damaged ass. Again, fair warning, this story is dark and there is a sexual assault in this fic. Also, the focus has shifted and I realize now Jax isn't so much a character in it, as he is a catalyst for Ima's path through the story._

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><p>"You pulled a gun on me." Lyla accuses.<p>

"Yeah, I did." Ima takes a long swallow of her drink. She is unashamed and she looks at Lyla, meeting her eyes and her challenge. Ima's got about six inches and thirty pounds on Lyla. Even busted up and dizzy she'd probably win a catfight if that's what Lyla means about getting a few things straight.

"Why would you do that Ima?" Lyla asks and Ima doesn't respond. She lets the opportunity to apologize wander right past them. Lyla was taking a swing at her earlier and hell if she was going to allow those two dragon ladies to hold her arms while Lyla beat the fuck out of her. If Ima learned anything from her mother as they were packing up their car for the millionth time and moving away from either her mom's crazy family or her bad taste in men, it was other people come and go. They leaned on each other, and never looked back, and never said "I'm sorry."

"_You see this?"_ Her mother would say, tapping the rear-view mirror with one perfect fingernail as they drove out of town. _"This is for changing lanes and putting on your lip gloss. It's not for examining your past."_

"Hey! I'm talking to you." Lyla says, snapping her fingers and Ima tries to focus and listen better. "I need to know if I'm gonna have to look at you every day. Did you ask Dondo about a permanent spot here at the studio?"

Ima feels a wide smile spread across her face. It isn't a nice smile. "Didn't have to. He invited me to stay." She answers and she watches as Lyla deflates a little, looking soft and vulnerable again. Ima's always been a bigger name than Lyla. She's not as limited in the types of scenes she'll do and she brings in more money. If forced to choose between them, Dondo would keep Ima, and they both know it.

"Why'd you do it Ima? Why'd you sleep with him?" Lyla asks and Ima can't quite believe the ache in Lyla's voice. They've slept with so many of the same people, even doing a few scenes together. Is this the same woman who has sat late into the night with Ima, getting drunk, trading stories, and comparing notes on their co-stars? Sex has always been casual in their crowd and the urge is still there to dish, to examine her night with Opie, because that's what they've always done, but Ima pays heed to Lyla's pain, even if she doesn't understand it, and keeps her mouth shut. Lyla could still decide to whack her with the fifth of vodka.

"We were both pissed at you. He offered." Ima sighs finally. It is both the truth and a cop out.

"Oh and I bet you jumped right at it, didn't you?" Lyla asks. Ima shrugs and leaves it at that. Lyla covers her face with her hands. "When did this all get so fucked up?" Lyla sounds lost, and Ima spies an opening in the defeated slump on Lyla's shoulders, an opportunity to spin this in her favor and get Lyla back on her side.

"Jax threatened to kill me." Ima whispers and Jax scares her badly enough that she allows her fear to leak into her words, no acting required.

Lyla looks up shaken and Ima knows she's got her on the hook. "What the fuck…"

"If I come near the club or his chick again, he said he would murder me." Ima confides, loading her words with menace. Lyla's eyes widen and Ima begins reeling her in, working the common enemy angle. "Don't you see? They're thugs. All of them. Everything went to shit when Luann got us involved with the bikers. It's been nothing but guns and dead bodies for the last year."

"Jesus, Opie's always trying to get me to carry a gun. I told him no and he bought me a taser." Lyla puts her head back in her hands and moans a little bit. "I can't live like this anymore. I don't feel safe."

Ima leans forward, feeding Lyla her outrage at Jax's condemnation, and picking a scab on Lyla's relationship with Opie. "And they made a lot of cash off of us with Cara-Cara. We made them money, but what we do is wrong? We're the whores? Who are they to judge us?"

Lyla features screw up in irritation for a moment. "I'm so tired of not being good enough..." She starts and Ima's feels triumphant, but then Lyla's mouth drops open and her eyes goggle. She plunges her hands into her hair, pulling at the roots and looking crazed. "Oh my God, you crazy bitch! Shut up, just shut up!" Lyla gets up from her chair, her voice growing louder, and advances on Ima who shrinks back into the couch. "I'm not listening to anymore of your shit. Don't you get it Ima? This?" She yells gesturing between them. "Is over. We're not friends. We're never going to be friends again. This is too big. You don't get to be a raging cunt, leave me to cool off for a couple of weeks and then text me like nothing ever happened. You helped ruin my marriage. I will never forgive you."

Lyla heads for the door and Ima wants to stop her. Ima sets fire to things just to watch them burn. She knows she does, but this last bridge, the last blazing link to Lyla isn't a bonfire Ima wants to dance around. She wants to keep Lyla. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be alone.

"I never told anyone about your abortion." Ima blurts out. Lyla halts and turn around, shock etched into her face.

"I never... How do you know that?" Lyla demands.

"I found a bottle of Methergine in your purse. That's what they give you after you have one." Ima admits and she worries for a second that she gave herself away, but Lyla's mind follows a different path.

"What were you doing in my purse?" Lyla asks.

"Searching for coke." Ima says but doesn't add, "_And something I could use against you." _Because as soon as Ima found the meds, she knew exploiting that knowledge was a line she wouldn't cross. She decided if revenge against Lyla was in the cards, she would find a different way. And it's important to Ima that Lyla understand that. "I could have ruined everything with Opie a year ago, but I didn't. I didn't tell anybody. I kept your secret."

"What do you want? A medal?" Lyla pinches the bridge of her nose before scrubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, leaving behind black streaks from her mascara. Lyla looks too tired to care. "Well, I already told him, and we're probably over. There's nothing left for you to wreck. But I want you to stay away from me, and stay the fuck away from Opie too. Got it?" Lyla turns to leave.

"I kept your secret." Ima repeats, and what she really means is _"I'm sorry."_

Lyla turns and fixes Ima with a look as exhausted as it is bitter. "You're a real piece of work, you know that." She says and walks out the door.

The room is quiet with Lyla gone. Ima doesn't like the quiet. She needs music, activity, anything to keep the constant noise in her head from getting louder. She tries to get up but her balance is shaky and her shoes aren't helping. Ima stumbles and sits down hard. She rips the clear plastic platforms off of her feet and hurls them towards the closet. The tips of her fingers protest and Ima looks down at them. Two of her nails have broken off, high above the quick, and they're bleeding. How had she not felt them before? The longer she looks at her fingertips, the more they hurt.

Ima tries again and this time she makes it to her feet. She has to clean herself up if she's going to ever leave the dressing room. She pulls the chair Lyla was using over to her makeup table, sits in it, grabs the baby wipes, and then takes a deep breath before looking in the mirror.

Rage washes through her at her swelling face, already purpling with bruises she'll have to cover with makeup for days, if not weeks. There's more blood than she expected and one of the fake eye lashes they all wear while on camera has come loose and is hanging off her eyebrow like a dead caterpillar. But it's the look in her eyes, a startled, haunted look she's seen before, that takes her back to days she tries her damndest to forget.

Ima's fifteen when her mom moves them closer to the one sister she can stand for longer than a three day visit. There is no critical grandma in town, no grandpa who starts swinging after his fifth beer, no funny uncle Ima is forbidden to be alone with, and no sticky toddlers running around with their teeth rotting out of their heads because her idiot cousins keep putting kool aid in their bottles. It's just her aunt Sharon and her cousin Lisa, who are her favorites.

It's a fresh start, a new town, and another school filled with curious faces. Changing schools used to be a problem for Ima. She hates always being the new kid, never knowing anybody or the rules of the school, and she hates knowing she'll have to say goodbye to the friends she makes as she moves on to yet another fresh start. But like all things, it gets easier with time and Ima learns how to pick up friends quickly, and also how to let them go.

But this is a town her mom has vowed to settle in for good. She claims they won't move again. Ima finds a crowd to run with and starts seeing Shaun, the boy whose locker is next to hers. Shaun isn't the hottest guy in school -but he's close- and Ima likes the way his hair falls into his soft brown eyes. She also likes to run her hands over the stealthy six-pack he hides under his oversized t-shirts. Ima's not sure if she loves him. Doesn't really know what that's supposed to feel like, doesn't think her mom is the best person to ask about it, and she feels weird, almost guilty, and sort of like she wants to break up, when Shaun confesses he's in love with her.

Ima keeps her grades high, and as a reward, her mom lets her spend spring break with Lisa. Lisa's in college and lives in a house she shares with five other people. One of her roommates, a guy named James, takes an interest in Ima, going out of his way to get to know her. He listens when Ima talks and looks at her the same way Shaun does. She loves the powerful spell her young leggy curves cast over boys, the way their eyes travel her body making her tingle, and she doesn't want the attention to end, so she leaves out the finer details of her age. She tells him she's under twenty-one because she could never pass for that old, but she lets James think she isn't jailbait.

On one of her last nights there, the house throws a party, and James glues himself to Ima, feeding her alcohol and playing with the ends of her hair as they talk. Lisa doesn't like what she's seeing and pulls Ima aside to talk about toying with the expectations of men.

"_Ima, this isn't high school. He's a man and you're playing a dangerous game that you can't win."_ Lisa chastises.

Ima crosses her arms and waits out the lecture. Lisa really doesn't know what she's talking about. There's nothing dangerous about flirting with a hot guy. It's fun and besides, Ima already has a boyfriend. She and James aren't doing anything but talking.

Lisa huffs off to track down James and warn him off Ima, but she gets waylaid at the door when the cops walk in to bust up the party. Ima looks around, knowing she's way underage and needing a place to hide, when James' hand snags hers. His eyes are brimming with mischief as he pulls her up the stairs to his room. James stuffs his pint of liquor down Ima's shorts and hides her in his bedroom closet. With a wink, he closes the doors and tells her to wait for the all clear.

Things get fuzzy after that. Ima is bored waiting for the cops to leave and she sneaks sips out of the pint until her head grows heavy. The rest of the night flashes in little slides as she fades in and out of consciousness.

He helps her off the floor of his closet and she sways in his arms, giggling and unsteady on her feet. He's so pretty, and his mouth is warm and practiced as he kisses her. Ima's stomach flutters uneasily. Cheating on Shaun wasn't part of the plan. Ima breaks the kiss by losing her balance.

The room is dark and her shorts are gone. He tells her she's beautiful as he tucks her under his covers.

He climbs into bed and spoons her, rubbing his hands along her thighs, and murmuring in her ear about how soft she feels. She wants his hands to stay at her waist but she's so tired and her mouth won't make the right shapes.

She's cold. The covers are pulled down and the trail of goose bumps sliding down her legs is the loss of her panties.

His head is between her thighs, spreading warmth down to her toes, and Ima tries to buck. She doesn't want him there like that, so close to her. He laughs and hugs her hips tighter. He tells her to relax. He's going to make her feel good.

She's on her back and he's on top of her. Her legs are flopped on the mattress and his hands are under her ass, cupping it, using his grip for leverage. Ima can't really feel what he's doing. It's become distant and separate from the rest of her, as if in a dream, but there is a flicker of panic, a muffled voice in her head bringing her back round every time she drifts off, reminding her it's really happening.

His breath blows against her ear and he tells her over and over again how he thinks he could love her. Ima feels the whimpers coming out of her mouth before she hears them. She tries to push him off, but her arms are weak and fall back onto the bed. He shushes her, kisses her neck, and calls her "baby."

Ima isn't a virgin, this isn't her first time, but all of the shy fumbling sex with Shaun felt nothing like this. Shaun averted his eyes and let Ima slip out of bed. He didn't spend the night wrapped around her, didn't talk in her ear about how her pussy feels, and didn't cum inside of her. Ima's thighs are tacky with dried cum the next morning and her head is a volcano of pressure and pain when James rolls over, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

The morning glare isn't kind to James. He's softer, thicker bellied than she realized. He's not old, but he's older, and the eight years of hard partying he has on Ima shows around his puffy bloodshot eyes. His breath is sour with stale beer and cigarettes as he talks to her like she's his new girl and makes plans for their day. James' hands play over her shoulders and back, the light caresses buzzing through her skin, tweaking her nerves, annoying her until she wants to break his fingers. He leans in for a kiss and Ima backs away, rolling onto her back. James thinks she's playing and follows, climbing on top of her, his knees looking to part her thighs. Ima locks her legs together and grabs a handful of his patchy chest hair. It's sweaty and she thinks about giving it a hard tug.

"_If you don't get off me, I'm going to piss your bed." _she wants to snarl at him, but before she can say it, his forehead creases in confusion.

"_What's wrong, baby?"_ James asks her and she deflates, unclenching her hand on his chest.

"_I… I think I'm gonna be sick." _is what she manages to get out.

He chuckles as he moves off of her, letting her up. There's a teasing edge to his laugh, and maybe it's just her imagination, but it feels too intimate. Like James is insinuating he _knows_ Ima since he's been in all her secret spaces, and she feels invaded again.

Ima scrambles out of his bed and hunts for her clothing. It's scattered all over his floor and she can't find all of it. Ima grabs his robe and wraps up in it.

"I'm gonna take a shower." She says and heads for the door. She can hear him getting up, but Ima keeps walking. She finds a hollow and shocked face in the mirror, hickeys big and purple like bruises on her neck, and the muscles under her left eye jumping and twitching with her pounding heart. Ima doesn't recognize herself.

Ima shudders and pushes James back into the gnarled dark corners of her mind where she tries to keep him contained. She's mopped up the blood and spit. Her face looks as good as it can tonight. She rumages through the scattered debris on the table until she finds her sunglasses. Ima doesn't care if it's midnight, she's not walking through the studio without them. She digs through the closet until she finds a pair of bright red converse that belong to another girl. Ima snorts as she puts them on. They're a little big, but they'll do for now because Ima only has heels at the studio and she's really not in the mood to wear them.

There have been nights in her life where Ima has been facedown on the floor, hurt worse, ached and bled more than during her night with James, but he and this first violation is what festers in her head when her life gets quiet. He was gentle with her, talked about love, and didn't listen when she said no. It's the ambiguity that kills her. She's held that night up to the light so many times, twisting and turning it like a prism, trying to find the answers to his motives, in the sharp refracted rainbow of possibilities. When she's spewing bitterness, she thinks he rufied the pint of liquor he shoved down her pants, and when she's at her most generous, she thinks he wanted a new girlfriend. Mostly, she lands somewhere in the middle, but she'll never know, she'll never get the answers she wants, and he'll never pay any tolls, because what she did the next morning muddied her case against him.


End file.
